Tik Tok
by ThePoetCerridwen
Summary: Sam leaves to take care of a quick and easy hunt on his own—and goes missing. Frantic, Dean searches for days and finds his little brother in a hospital, and in a coma. Now it's a race against time to find out what did this to Sammy, and figure out how to save him before it's too late. Hurt!Comatose!Sam, Protective!BigBrother!Dean, and Bobby too.
1. Prologue

Sam finished stuffing the last of his things into a duffle, and left the cheap motel room to check out at the front desk, alone this time. Several days ago, Bobby had called the boys saying that he'd caught wind of some minor trouble from an old friend—and non-hunter—of his. A poltergeist, he'd said, just the matter of a simple cleansing ritual.

At the time, the Winchester brothers had been in the middle of a case. After a long discussion, Dean had finally reluctantly agreed to let Sam take the two-day drive to take care of the poltergeist, alone, leaving Dean to finish off the werewolf they were hunting.

"It's a friend of Bobby's," Sam had said, "And it shouldn't take anymore than a few days, a week at most."

After a few days, Sam had easily taken care of the problem and was now heading out to the borrowed—okay fine, _stolen_ —car to head back to Dean.

But as soon as he'd stepped out into the night, the hair on the back of his neck had risen and his hunter's senses were immediately alert. He couldn't put his finger on what it was exactly, but something was wrong. He quickly scanned the area, but it was dark and he couldn't see much. Cautiously, he made his way over to the car.

" _Tik tok_."

Sam froze, his hand halfway to the door handle. Slowly, he drew his gun and dropped his duffle to the ground, turning in a slow circle as he searched for the source of the voice.

" _Tik tok._ "

In an odd way, the voice was quite soothing, even in those two short words. But at the same time Sam could sense malevolence there. It was maliciously gleeful, like a child about to rip the ear off of a puppy.

" _Tik tok._ "

Sam's eyes began to droop.

" _Tik tok._ "

The gun in his hand suddenly felt very heavy, and he began to let his arm drop without even thinking about it.

" _Tik tok._ "

His knees began to buckle. A nap sounded really nice.

" _Tik tok._ "

He could just sit down right here and go to sleep. He could go find Dean in the morning.

" _Tik tok_."

Suddenly Sam was on the ground, propped against the car. His chin dropped to his chest and his gun rested in limp fingers. Yeah, a nap would be good.

" _Tik tok._ "

He was just so _tired._

" _Tik tok._ "

His eyes slid shut.

It was when he felt the clawed hand on his shoulder that Sam's eyes snapped open again. Fighting hard against the ineffable desire to sleep, he raised his head—and looked straight into the eyes of a monster.

Its eyes were red, its skin decaying and discolored. Its fingers were long and clawed, and when it grinned at him Sam could see hundreds of needle-like teeth. " _Tik tok,_ " it soothed.

With a strangled grunt, Sam threw his head back, fighting the fresh wave of sleepy exhaustion. Clumsy fingers fumbled for the gun in his lap just as the creature leaned forward and took a bite out of his shoulder.

Sam cried out, but the pain gave him a jolt of energy and strength. He finally managed to close his fingers around the gun. Lifting his arm, he shoved the barrel into the creature's ribs and pulled the trigger.

With a loud screech, the thing fell back, kicking Sam in the chest in the process. Sam wheezed painfully and tried to get to his feet, using the car for support. He blindly fired another shot, and judging by another inhuman shriek he must have hit it somewhere.

Once he was on his feet—albeit unsteadily—he turned to fire again. The creature growled, lifted its hand and hurled something at Sam's face.

Sam instinctively turned away, raising a protective arm—but it was too late. He could feel something small and gritty— _sand?_ —painfully stinging his eyes. Before he knew it, his knees were giving out and he was sprawled on the cold, hard asphalt. He couldn't keep his eyes open anymore and he was dragged into the darkness of deep sleep.

No one saw the hideous creature limping back into the shadows.

 **TBC**

 **Please, please review! It would really mean so much to me to hear what you guys have to say, good or bad. I'm always looking for constructive criticism :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Dean was losing his mind.

Sam had called saying that he had taken care of the poltergeist and was heading back to meet him.

That was days ago.

Dean had called him over and over again, leaving probably about fifty voicemails. Dean called Bobby and Bobby's friend that Sam had helped, but neither of them had heard anything. Dean waited at the motel for a day and a half after Sam should have shown up, hoping he would walk through that door at any minute. Dean tried to tell himself not to worry so much—Sam was a big boy; maybe he had lost his phone, maybe the car had broken down.

Dean didn't believe either of those for a second.

Finally he left Sam one more voicemail, telling him that Dean was coming to find him and that "If you're fine and just being a petulant little bitch, I am going to kick your tall ass nine ways to fucking Sunday."

Dean packed everything up, got in the Impala and sped off in Sam's direction.

* * *

Nurse Jenny Faith sat next to the young man's bed and studied his face sympathetically.

He'd been brought in several days ago, unconscious, with a torn up shoulder, a couple of broken ribs, and a concussion. The younger lady nurses had immediately taken a shine to him. Even though he was in a coma, the girls couldn't stop cooing over how sweet and handsome he looked. Jenny herself was already in her early sixties, but she did agree that he was quite the looker.

But Jenny had a more motherly attachment to him. She'd come to visit him more often than was necessary—during her lunch break and after her shifts she would come and sit with him, talking, reading aloud, or even singing sometimes. The poor boy was a John Doe, as he'd been found without ID and his phone broken from when he'd apparently collapsed on it.

John Doe had been brought in from a tiny town with a tiny hospital that hadn't been equipped enough to treat him. They'd been able to take care of his injuries well enough, but it was the coma that was the problem. His concussion had been mild—probably just the knock on the head he'd received when he collapsed—so there was no explanation as to why he'd passed out and just wouldn't wake up.

Jenny gently took the young man's calloused hand into her own and began rubbing his arm. She didn't know why she felt the need to spend so much of her time with him. Maybe it was because he reminded her so much of her own son. Maybe it was simply because he was all alone. Whatever the case, she'd made it her personal mission to care for him, and screw anybody who tried to stop her.

"Hey, sweetie," she smiled softly. "It's me, Jenny. Do you remember me?"

No response, unsurprisingly.

"Well, I brought another book with me today. Would you like me to read it to you?"

John Doe just continued to breathe quietly.

She let go of his hand to reach into her purse, pulling the book out. " _Grimm's Fairytales,_ " she read off the cover. "I don't know what kind of books you like to read, or if you like to read at all, but maybe you'll like these—I promise they aren't like the Disney versions. And besides," she chuckled, "If you don't like it, maybe you'll wake up and tell me to shut up."

Jenny opened the cover to the first story and began to read.

* * *

The town was tiny and there was only the one motel, so naturally Dean had started there. The manager hadn't want to say anything about a customer due to "company policy," but after glimpsing the gun tucked into Dean's waistband he suddenly developed a very loose tongue.

"The guy left a couple of days ago," the manager told him. "He checked out around nine o'clock at night." He fidgeted nervously.

"Well, what happened?" Dean demanded irritably. "Is that the last time you saw him?"

"No." The manager chewed his lip. "Like a minute after he walked out I heard a couple of gunshots."

Dean's stomach dropped.

"I heard him scream, and something else . . ."

Dean leaned forward with a glare. "What? What else?"

The man withered under Dean's murderous gaze. "I-I heard something that sounded like an animal. It screeched a few times."

"Did you see anything?"

"No. When I walked out your friend was passed out on the ground, his shoulder was all bloody and stuff—"

Rage boiled in Dean's gut at the thing that had hurt his baby brother. "So was he taken to a hospital?"

"Yeah."

"Where?"

The manager gave him directions and Dean was out the door once again.

Upon reaching the hospital, Dean made a beeline for the front desk.

"What's your brother's name?" the receptionist asked.

"Sam Willard," Dean spouted off Sam's cover name.

She hit a few keys and ran her eyes over the computer screen. She frowned and shook her head. "Sorry, there's no one by the name 'Willard' here."

Dean's stomach dropped again. "Try Winchester."

The receptionist gave him a funny look, but typed the name in. She shook her head again. "I'm sorry, still no results."

Dean's worry was giving way to anger. "How the hell can there be no results?" he spat. "Sam is hurt and was taken to this hospital, so where the fuck is he?"

"Sir, please calm down—"

Dean exploded. " _Calm down?_ " He smashed his fist down on the counter, causing her to jump and the people around him to back away. "My little brother is hurt and missing and you're telling me to _calm down?_ "

The woman quaked in her seat. "I-I'm sorry—"

Dean shut his eyes and gripped the edge of the counter, fighting the urge to punch her fucking lights out.

"S-Sir? Are you okay?"

Dean suddenly deflated and he took a deep breath, fighting back tears. "I just want my baby brother," he croaked.

The receptionist swallowed and looked up at him. She took in his weary and sickened expression, and slowly realized that he was just out of his mind with worry for his brother. She relaxed a bit and gently asked, "What does he look like? Height, hair and eye color, stuff like that."

Dean gave her the best description he could and she wacked at the keyboard some more. Finally she smiled a bit. "Okay, there was one man of that description brought in on the same day you say he was injured. He was kept here for a day, and then transferred to another hospital."

Dean frowned. "Transferred? Why?"

"Says here that he was in a coma, and sent to that hospital for more tests and better treatment."

"Give me an address," Dean almost barked, and she wasted no time scrawling an address onto a notepad. She tore the page off and handed it to him with an encouraging smile. "Good luck," she said. Dean only nodded and ran out.


	3. Chapter 3

**All you people that have been reviewing: Thank you** _ **so**_ **much, it makes me so happy to hear everyone's opinion!**

 **Please continue to review, I'm open to all opinions and any constructive criticism!**

Sam was trapped.

Darkness swirled around him, painful, suffocating.

He couldn't move. He couldn't even scream for help.

Couldn't scream for Dean.

There were _things_ in the darkness. Things that would laugh at him, that would hurt him. He could feel their claws and teeth tear into his flesh, their putrid breath as they whispered in his ears.

He never saw them, not completely. Mostly he just saw their eyes. The eyes glowed. The eyes mocked him. He would see them from away, and then they would disappear—only to reappear right in front of his face.

The torture was constant. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't escape, nor could he remember how he got there. All he really cared about was Dean—where was he? Was he okay?

Was he trapped here too?

"Dean!" he tried to scream, but his voice wouldn't work. His mouth didn't even move.

 _Help me. Please, Dean, somebody, help me._

* * *

Jenny was singing to John Doe.

Her shift had ended two hours ago, but she'd still remained with the boy. She had the weekend off, so today she didn't have to worry about getting home early to sleep.

Jenny ran her fingers through the young man's hair, singing an old hymnal she'd learned as a child. Her mother had always sung it to her when she was sick, and in turn she'd sung it to her son when he was a child.

She'd learned a long time ago that it was always good to stimulate a coma patient's senses, by talking to them, touching them, things like that. That's why she always read or sang to him, and made sure to hold his hand or stroke his hair. Occasionally she thought she saw a finger or an eyelid twitch, but she couldn't be sure.

She went to tuck his hair behind his ear when her fingers suddenly brushed against something wet. Jenny frowned and leaned forward to get a better look.

A single tear was trickling out of the corner of his eye.

While Jenny knew it was good that his body was reacting to something, a sudden pain in her chest made it hard to breathe. "Oh, honey," she whispered, wiping the tear away as her own eyes began to moisten.

* * *

Dean tore down the hospital hallway, glancing at room numbers. He'd finally arrived at the hospital Sam had been transferred to, and as soon as the receptionist had given him a room number he was gone.

"Where the hell are you, Sam?" he muttered.

Finally he spotted the number he was looking for and slowed. Someone was in there, he could hear their voice. But his hesitation lasted less than a second and then he was barreling into the room.

There was a woman there. Her graying hair was pulled up in a tight bun and she was dressed in scrubs, so she must have been a nurse. Her back was turned, and Dean could hear that she was the one speaking. She was brushing her hand over Sam's cheek.

 _Sam._

An oxygen cord ran under his nose, he was hooked up to an IV and several different beeping monitors, and _goddammit,_ he looked so damn small and young. His face was horribly pale, eyes sunken, lips chapped. And he was still, _way_ too still. Sam had always been a restless sleeper. Now the only moving he did was to breathe.

"Sammy?" he finally croaked.

The woman jumped and quickly turned in her seat. "Hello?" she called to him, standing up. "Can I help you?"

Dean ignored her approached the bed slowly. "Oh, god, Sammy—" his voice cracked and he reached out to take Sam's hand.

The nurse gasped. "You know him?" she asked.

Dean nodded. "He's my little brother."

If Dean didn't have his back turned, he would've seen the huge grin on her face. "What's his name?" she asked.

"Sam. Sam Willard." Dean sank into the chair previously occupied by the nurse. "What's wrong with him?"

"Let me call his doctor, and he'll explain everything."

Jenny pressed the call button for the doctor and then turned to study the man holding John Doe's—no, _Sam's_ hand.

"Hey Sammy," he said quietly. "'S good to finally see you again."

His voice sounded so weary and broken that Jenny had to fight back tears and restrain herself from pulling him into a tight hug.

Finally Dr. Widener entered the room. Jenny immediately waved him over to the bed, saying, "Dr. Widener, the patient's name is Sam Willard, and this is his brother . . ."

"Dean," the man supplied. He looked up at the doctor. "What's wrong with him?"

The doctor reached out and quickly shook Dean's hand with a polite smile. "Well, your brother here was brought in as a John Doe. He didn't have any ID on him, and his phone was broken, which is why we weren't able to call any of his emergency contacts. We don't know exactly how he obtained his injuries, but here's what we do know: Sam has some bruising on his torso and two broken ribs. His left shoulder has what appears to be an animal bite of some kind, but we're having some trouble identifying it. Whatever it was had plenty of small, sharp teeth that caused a bit of nerve damage that required microsurgery and lots of stitches."

"Nerve damage?" Dean asked, his stomach twisting. "What does that mean?"

"I can assure you, it's very minor. He might have some stiffness and occasional phantom pains, and there will be a small area on his shoulder—about an inch in diameter—where he won't have any feeling, but other than that it should be fine. Part of the problem with the bite is that it wasn't just a bite—whatever it was took a chunk of Sam with it."

Dean clenched his fists. Oh, when he found the thing that hurt Sammy . . .

"Unfortunately, Sam will have an ugly scar," the doctor was saying, "But as long as it's given the proper treatment it shouldn't cause too much trouble. Now, he also had a mild concussion, but we suspect that may just be from when he collapsed and struck his head on the asphalt. We've taken care of it already."

"What about the coma?" Dean asked. "Why won't he wake up?"

Dr. Widener sighed. "I'm afraid that's what we're worried about. We've run every test in the book, but we just don't know what's causing this. It's like he fell asleep and can't wake up."

"So," Dean swallowed thickly, "There's really nothing you can do?"

The doctor smiled sympathetically. "I promise you, Mr. Willard, we aren't giving up. We'll keep a close eye on him, and we can experiment with different treatments to see if we can wake him up. Oh, and one other thing I think you should know—" the doctor reached into his pocket and produced a small Petri dish. "We found this substance in his eyes. We've run several tests, but so far we haven't learned anything about it. Would you happen to have any idea what it is?"

Dean reached out and took the Petri dish, peering in through the plastic lid. A few grains of what looked like black sand speckled the interior. The ridges caught the light a bit, giving the grains an almost crystalline appearance. Dean frowned and turned the dish from side to side, wracking his brain. Finally he shook his head. "Sorry, I got nothing." He started to hand it back, but paused. "You mind if I take a picture of it?" he asked.

Dr. Widener shrugged. "That would be fine."

Dean quickly whipped out his phone and snapped a picture before handing the dish back. The doctor nodded politely before excusing himself to go tend to other patients, and Dean sank back into the plastic chair next to Sam.

He started when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see the nurse smiling down kindly at him. She pulled up another chair and sat next to him. "We didn't get properly introduced," she said, sticking her hand out. "I'm Nurse Jenny Faith. Call me Jenny."

Dean shook her hand, but frowned slightly. "You don't have other patients to take care of?"

She waved a dismissive hand. "My shift ended two hours ago."

Dean's eyebrows rose. "And you're still here?"

Jenny looked over at Sam with a smile and rested a hand on his arm. "I guess you could say I've taken a bit of a shine to your brother. He sort of reminds me of my own son, and it just upset me to know that he was here all alone . . ." she shrugged. "During breaks and after my shifts I started spending time with him. It's always good to talk to coma patients, so I would read or sing to him. The thought of this young man being in a hospital with no one to be with him . . . I just couldn't do that to him."

Dean was shocked. Never in their lives had some complete stranger show this amount of kindness to either of them. She was using up her breaks and staying at the hospital _hours_ after her shift –she could be relaxing at home right now, and instead she was choosing to stay with Sam.

Dean's heart swelled and suddenly he felt very indebted to this woman. "Thank you," he said softly.

"No thanks necessary, dear," she smiled. "It's just my job—as a nurse and as a mother, even if he isn't my son." She looked over at Dean. "Would you like to have some time alone with him?"

"Please," he nodded.

Jenny stood and squeezed his shoulder once before exiting the room.

As soon as she was gone, Dean dug his phone out of his pocket. He quickly dialed a number and waited for an answer.

"You find 'im?" Bobby's gruff voice immediately greeted him through the receiver without preamble.

"Yeah, but . . ." Dean took a breath and ran a hand over his face. "It's not good."

"What's wrong?"

Dean spent the next few minutes filling Bobby in on everything he'd learned about Sam and his condition. "The doctor says it's like he just went to sleep and can't wake up. They also found something that looks like black sand in his eyes—hang on; I'll send you a picture."

After a few moments Bobby acknowledged that he'd received the photo. "Alright, I'll hit the books. Call if you need anything. You take care of that boy."

"I will. Thanks, Bobby." Dean ended the call and stuffed his phone back in his pocket before silently taking Sam's hand once again.

 **Sorry the chapters are so short, but maybe this way I'll be able to keep updates relatively frequent. Also I have absolutely no medical knowledge whatsoever, so sorry if I get shit wrong.**

 **Remember, reviews are food for a writer's soul :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**I hope everyone had a Merry Christmas (or Hanukah, or whatever else you might celebrate, lol)!**

 **My parents gave me a few seasons of Supernatural on DVD and a poster and I cried. Seriously. I had to leave the room because I was having a meltdown xD. My family now thinks I am mentally ill. Maybe I fangirl too much, but you know what?** _ **I like the disease.**_ ***evil cackling***

 **Thank you so much to everyone who's been favoriting/following/reviewing!**

One of the nurses came by at some point and gave Dean all of Sam's things, which really wasn't much of anything besides his duffle bag with his laptop, weapons, and clothes. Dean opened the duffle to make sure everything was there, as well as to check to make sure there wasn't anything that wasn't supposed to be.

He frowned when he couldn't find Sam's wallet. The doctor had said he was found without ID, which didn't make any sense because Dean knew Sam had taken one of the fakes with him (only a driver's license, since such a simple hunt wouldn't have required an FBI badge). Maybe he lost it? No, Sam was too careful for that.

Stolen?

No again, Sam was just too careful to let it get stolen. He was a well-trained hunter who hadn't let any of his belongings get stolen since he was eight years old and in the third grade.

 _Unless it was taken while he was unconscious._

Dean felt another flare of anger in his gut at that thought. He doubted it was the monster—they generally have no use for cash and credit cards. So that meant that someone had found his little brother, injured and unconscious, and robbed him.

 _I'm gonna kill you too._

Dean stood and gave Sam's arm a squeeze. "I'll be back, little brother." Tossing the duffle over his shoulder, he reluctantly left the room.

Jenny spotted him in the hallway and hurried to catch up. "Hey sweetie, you alright?" she asked kindly.

Dean stopped and let out a dry laugh, rubbing his eyes. "I won't be alright until Sam is."

"Well, you go home and get some sleep. I'll watch out for him."

He managed a tired smile. "I will, and thanks."

She smiled and patted his arm before turning back to Sam's room.

* * *

After booking a room at a motel just two minutes away from the hospital, Dean headed back to the scene of the crime. Stepping out of the Impala, he peered out into the night, the only light coming from the motel's broken and flickering street sign.

Sam's "borrowed" car still sat in the parking lot. Dean made mental note to get rid of it soon before the cops found it and questions were asked. He circled around to the other side, and stopped. There was still a small bloodstain on the ground and a splatter on the driver's side door. Crouching down, Dean produced a flashlight from his pocket and shined it around on the ground.

He almost missed it, but leaning closer he spotted more of that black sand scattered on the ground. Anyone else might have mistaken it for bits of asphalt, but Dean could see that it was too fine, too glittery to be that. There were also claw marks. They weren't very deep, but they were there: Something with four or five claws, thin and maybe long from the looks of it.

Dean also noticed a few drops of a strange black substance, which had hardened by now. It was reminiscent of tar, but had a strange luminescence about it, gleaming in the moonlight just like the black sand.

A thud caused Dean to jerk his head back up. Across the street and between two buildings was a dark alleyway. He could see some that high school kid—either drunk or high or both—had crashed into a dumpster and was now trying to stumble down the sidewalk. He had something in his hand and was currently trying to stuff it into his pocket, but failing miserably. Dean squinted at the object. Suddenly his eyes widened and he was running across the street.

He grabbed the kid's filthy hoodie and slammed him back against the building's brick wall. Dean snatched the worn, brown leather wallet with a silver "SW" engraved on the corner from his hand. He'd recognize that wallet anywhere—it's the one he gave Sam for Christmas years ago.

Dean held the wallet up in front of the terrified kid's face. "Where did you get this?" he demanded.

"I-I found it!" the kid sputtered wildly.

"Did you, now?" Dean snarled. "Care to tell me where?"

"Um, just, on . . . on the ground, y'know?"

"You sure about that? You don't think that maybe, _maybe_ you didn't just happen to 'find' it in the pocket of an _injured_ and _unconscious_ man?" Dean slammed the kid into the wall again, drawing a cry of pain from him.

"Wh-what? No, no, I—"

Dean yanked his knife from his jacket and pressed it to the kid's throat. A small part of him whispered that if Sam were here, he'd make him put the knife away and calm him down, because this was too much.

But Sam _wasn't_ here, he was in the hospital. And this jackass junkie of a kid had taken advantage of him while he was hurt, and Dean wanted nothing more than to stab him in the throat for that.

"Try again," Dean hissed in his face.

The kid trembled, tears in his eyes. "Okay, okay, look, I'm sorry, I just saw an opportunity and I took it. I took his wallet and I was gonna take his phone, but it was broken, and then I was gonna search his bag but I got scared when I saw that thing—"

"What thing?" Dean interrupted sharply.

"I-I don't know, it just looked, like, _dead_ or something, it was all hunched with big claws and red eyes and dripping black stuff like it was bleeding and I think it was limping—" the kid kept rambling but his speech had turned even more slurred and garbled than before, and Dean couldn't understand him anymore.

Dean huffed and threw him to the ground in disgust. He opened Sam's wallet to find all of the cash gone, but the credit card and driver's license still there. He tucked it safely into his pocket and held up his knife. "You're lucky this time, kid," he growled, "But stay out of my sight and don't you _ever_ come near my brother again, or I will gut you like a damn pig."

The kid nodded fervently and wasted no time trying to scramble away, but only succeeding in smashing his face into the ground. Dean rolled his eyes and strode back to the parking lot, snapping a few more pictures and sending them to Bobby. He climbed back into the car and pointed her back in the direction of the motel he'd booked a room at.

Upon arriving, he immediately pulled out Sam's laptop and sat down at the table. It was time for him to do his own research.

 **Remember, reviews are food for a writer's soul :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey guys! I am** _ **so**_ **sorry for the delay, I got so caught up in school that I just kept neglecting to sit down and write. I'll try to do better.**

 **Also, I know absolutely jack shit about coma patients except from what I've read on Google, and I can't find much of anything that's actually helpful from there. So please excuse my lack of knowledge and the errors that are most likely in that department. I'm trying my best to be realistic with what little I do know!**

A loud knock sounded at the door and Dean jerked his head up from the table. He rubbed his eyes. _Fuck, did I fall asleep?_

He didn't have a chance to chew himself out before someone banged on the door again. Dean grabbed his gun and approached the door cautiously. Keeping his gun arm hidden behind it, he pulled the door open a crack. He blinked in surprise.

" _Bobby?"_

"Ya gonna let me in?" the old man smirked.

Dean quickly checked him with holy water and silver and whatnot before letting him in. "What are you doing here?" Dean asked.

"Why _wouldn't_ I be here?" Bobby said incredulously as he stepped over the threshold. "One of my boys is in the hospital; I'm not just gonna sit on my ass and twiddle my thumbs!"

 _My boys._ Dean's heart swelled at that, but he didn't comment on it. "Did you find anything?" he asked instead.

"Yep." Bobby dropped his bag on the floor and turned to Dean with his arms crossed. "I think we're dealin' with the Sandman."

Dean stared at him, eyebrows raised. "The Sandman," he deadpanned. "Like, 'Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream'?"

Bobby turned and began rummaging around in his bag. "There's several variations on the Sandman legend. Some say he's a good guy that brings sleep to children." He produced an old, battered book and paged through it. "Others say he's a monster that lulls his victims to sleep and then eats them."

"You're kidding."

"Here." Bobby held the book out. Dean took it and ran his eyes over the yellowed page.

" _The Sandman, a member of the Fae, feeds on the flesh of man,"_ Dean read aloud. " _He lulls his victims to sleep with the strange chant of '_ Tik Tok _'. Once asleep, the unfortunate victim is consumed."_ Dean shuddered. "Jesus." Sam was almost _eaten._

"That would explain the bite mark," Bobby said, "and it might be why Sam can't wake up. But what's botherin' me is, why's Sam still alive? I ain't complainin', but why didn't the thing finish the job?"

Dean looked up from the book in thought. "I went back to the scene of the crime," he said, "and there was this black stuff dripped all over the pavement. The manager said he heard a couple of gunshots, and this kid I talked to said he saw the thing run off like it was injured."

"You think Sam shot it?"

"Must have. Probably scared it off." Dean smiled proudly. " 'Atta boy, Sammy," he added quietly. He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Okay, so we know what it is. How do we kill it?"

Bobby sighed. "That's what I'm not sure about. Part of the problem is that, once it's healed, it'll probably go after Sam again."

A look of horror came over Dean's face and he flew up from the bed. "Well then we need to get back to the hospital and protect him! He's—"

"Hey boy, keep your shit together!" Bobby barked. "I already called Garth and he's on his way, he'll stay at the hospital with Sam. He'll be here in a couple of days."

Dean looked doubtful. "Garth? Are you sure?"

"Hey, he may be quirky—"

"That guy's looking quirky in the rearview mirror—"

"But he's a damn good hunter, and he won't let anything happen to your brother."

Dean finally sighed. "Fine. But until he gets here, I'm taking some of this stuff and I'm gonna do my research at the hospital."

Over the next several hours, Bobby stayed at the motel while Dean sat next to Sam's bed with the laptop on his knees. Jenny hadn't come in yet, which meant that Dean didn't have to try hiding what he was doing. There was a notebook and several sticky notes on the bed next to Sam's leg that was full of Dean's untidy scrawl, and the nurses that came by periodically gave him curious looks but never said anything.

Finally Dean grabbed the notebook and ran his eyes over the page to review his notes. Grabbing his phone, he called Bobby who answered almost immediately.

"I think we need to summon it," Dean said as soon as the old hunter picked up.

"You know how?"

"Yeah, it looks relatively easy, with a little luck. We're gonna need a couple of things . . ."

* * *

Dean refused to leave Sam unprotected, so he and Bobby took to rotating in shifts. The hospital staff gave them hell, of course, because "When visiting hours are over, you have to leave!" But the two hunters gave them hell right back, refusing to move their asses. This created several heated discussions and security was called twice.

Thank god for Jenny.

The entire hospital trusted the old nurse and always did what she said, even though she technically wasn't in charge (but Dean guessed she deserved it after working there for forty plus years). Jenny told everyone to give it a rest and let Sam's only two family members—and his friend, once Garth arrived—stay with him as long as they wanted.

Dean wished they could go ahead and do the summoning ritual, but they had to wait for a full moon, which wouldn't come for another week.

"Great," he muttered darkly. He reached out and squeezed Sam's arm. He hated the fact that Sam was being forced to stay trapped in whatever spell or curse this was for another whole week. Dean could only hope that Sam was simply unconscious, and not trapped in some horrible nightmare.

* * *

"No!"

Sam had crumpled to his knees and was hugging himself, rocking back and forth as hot tears streamed down his cheeks. "No no no," he moaned, "Please, _please_ just stop!"

At some point, the darkness, the mysterious eyes, and Sam's paralysis had left him. He didn't know how long ago that happened. Years, maybe? Centuries?

But Sam would've given anything to have that back, because it was bliss compared to this.

Dean stood before him, covered in blood. His hands were suspended above him in invisible manacles, his toes barely brushing the ground. He had been stripped down to his boxers, and bruises, cuts, and burns littered every bit of exposed skin.

Dean looked up at Sam, his glassy eyes filled with hurt. "Why won't you help me, Sam?" he croaked.

But Sam _couldn't_ help him. Every time he tried to approach his brother, an invisible barrier held him back. He'd spent an eternity pounding on the barrier, screaming every threat and curse he could think of at whatever creature it was that was hurting Dean. Because he never saw it. Injuries would simply appear on Dean's body—cuts dragging themselves open down his torso, burns sizzling into his flesh, bones snapping of their own accord.

Finally Sam's strength had worn out and he collapsed, sobbing and begging for it to stop.

"Sam," his brother cried, over and over. "Help me!"

"Dean," Sam choked, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He pressed his hands against the barrier. "Please, just stop hurting him! Take me instead!"

But there was no answer. There never was.

"Why do you hate me, Sam?"

Sam's heart stopped at the broken voice. He looked up.

"What?" he gasped.

Tears were streaming from Dean's eyes. "You won't help me. You hate me. Why do you hate me?"

"No!" Sam shouted, struggling back to his feet. "No, Dean, I don't hate you!" he cried out desperately. "You know that! You're my brother and I'd _die_ for you!"

But Dean didn't seem to hear him. He simply closed his eyes and began whispering, "You hate me. You hate me. You hate me."

Even though his throat was torn and raw, Sam began pounding on the barrier and screaming all over again. Screaming for the thing to let Dean go, and screaming for Dean to understand that he didn't hate him.

But suddenly Dean looked up, directly at Sam. His eyes were no longer glazed and filled pain. No, instead they were sharp and filled with contempt. "Fine," he hissed. "I hate you too."

And suddenly the barrier was gone, Dean was no longer suspended off the ground, and Sam had no time to react before his brother was lunging towards him.

* * *

"Nuh—"

Dean's head snapped up. "Sam?" he gasped.

Sam's body had suddenly jerked, what sounded like part of a word escaping his lips.

Dean tossed the notebook out of his lap and stood to bend over his brother. He smoothed Sam's hair back and cupped his cheek. "Sammy?" he murmured. He looked over his shoulder and shouted for a nurse before turning back to Sam. "Come on buddy, come back to me, you can do it . . . please, just open your eyes . . ."

"What is it?" Jenny's urgent voice came from behind him as she rushed into the room.

"He jerked once and tried to say something—"

Jenny bent over Sam and placed a hand on his arm. "Sam? Honey, can you hear me? Can you try moving again for us?"

But Sam lay still once again.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean moaned, tears prickling behind his eyes. "Don't tease me like this. Please, just wake up."

They waited a long time, but Sam didn't move again. Dean sank back into his chair and held his head in his hands.

Jenny came to stand next to him and rubbed his back soothingly. "It'll be okay, sweetie," she told him softly. "I've seen this kind of thing happen before with other patients. I know it's frustrating, but there's still hope."

Dean groaned and pushed one hand up to grip his own hair. "I just wish I knew if he's in pain. I wish I could help him."

"I know," Jenny said quietly.

"It's just always been my job to take care of him." Dean's voice cracked slightly. "I raised him, you know."

The old nurse's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Really? What about your parents?"

Dean reached out to take Sam's hand. "Our mom died when Sammy was a baby, and our dad—well, we moved around a lot for his job. He would leave for a lot of long business trips and it would just be me and Sam."

Jenny sat down in the chair next to Dean, listening in rapt silence. The older Winchester was watching his little brother with a glazed, nostalgic expression, and Jenny knew he was seeing Sam as he was when he was a small child.

"It was always my job to take care of him. Dad didn't even have to tell me, I just knew." The corners of his mouth quirked up in a smile. "You know, I probably learned about a hundred different ways to make mac and cheese. And once I made him fish sticks and told him yogurt was tartar sauce."

Jenny laughed. "That sounds awful!"

"Hey, he was six, he didn't care." Dean gently rubbed Sam's arm. "I always promised to take care of him. I told him that as long I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen to him." His mouth twisted in bitter self loathing. "And look where he is now."

Jenny's heart ached and tears threatened to fill her eyes. "Hey, it's not your fa—"

"Don't," Dean interrupted harshly. "Just don't."

Jenny's mouth hung open as if to say something, but she only sighed regretfully and squeezed his shoulder.

Dean shut his eyes and bowed his head, tightly gripping Sam's arm.

"I'd die for him," he whispered.

And right then, Jenny knew he absolutely meant it.

 **Remember, reviews are food for a writer's soul :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**So sorry about the delay again, I feel horrible! But to make up for it, there's a lot of action in this chapter.**

 **Also, I've been toying with Cas and considering how I might incorporate him into this story, but I've decided to let him sit this one out. I mainly just want to focus on the brothers.**

 **Anyway, enjoy!**

"Knock knock!"

Dean turned in his chair to look towards the door. Garth stood there with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder and a grin on his face.

"Hi, Dean!" he chirped, stepping inside the hospital room. He dropped his bag and immediately bent over to squeeze Dean's shoulders in an awkward hug.

"Yeah, uh, hi—" Dean managed to extract himself from Garth's spindly arms.

Garth turned to look at Sam, and his grin faded. "Hi, Sam," he said more quietly. "It's been a while, huh?" He silently watched Sam with a forlorn expression for a moment before returning his gaze to Dean.

"So," he said, "The Sandman, huh? That's cool, I've never hunted a faery before. Well, unless you count that ghost of a drag queen that died wearing a Tooth Fairy costume—"

"So Bobby filled you in on everything?" Dean quickly interrupted.

"Oh yeah. He also sent me to tell you that he's on his way to get the oak, ash, and thorn bark, and while he's doing that he wants you to go pick up the iron and silver ring y'all ordered from that metal worker downtown."

"Alright." Dean stood, but hesitated to leave, glancing down at Sam.

Garth smiled encouragingly and clapped Dean's shoulder. "Don't worry, Dean, I've got this."

Dean finally sighed. He squeezed Sam's hand once and left the room.

* * *

Sam lay on the ground, cold, limp and unmoving. His eyes, filled with pain and anguish, gazed off into the distance as if waiting for some miracle that would be his salvation.

Everything hurt. Blood trickled down his face, mixing with tears and dropping to the ground with a minute _pat, pat, pat._ His limbs were crooked with broken bones and sticky with blood. He was fairly sure one or more of his organs were bruised or completely busted. He knew that at least ten of his ribs were broken, if not all of them. Each breath was a painful rattle that sent shivers through his entire body.

In a distant corner of his mind, Sam wondered how on earth he was still alive.

"Are you happy now, little brother?" a cold voice hissed into his ear.

Dean's voice.

Sam wanted to die. Not because of the physical pain—but because the gaping hole in his heart was so great that he thought it would swallow him whole.

He wished it would. That way he wouldn't have to listen to his big brother's callous, detesting voice. He wouldn't have to see the burning hatred in Dean's eyes.

"Are you fucking happy that you've managed to drive me to do this? To finally punish you for what you've done?"

Dean seized Sam's face and forced his brother to look at him. "My whole life, you've caused nothing but trouble for me" he growled. "First, you walk out on me and Dad. You _abandoned_ us, Sam." Dean paused as he peered into Sam's bloodshot eyes. "You abandoned Mom."

"No," Sam croaked.

Dean roughly let go of Sam's face. Sam watched his boots as Dean sauntered a short distance away and began to pace.

"Not only that," he continued, "You _killed_ mom."

"No," Sam rasped again. "No, I—"

"Shut the fuck up!" Dean snarled as he delivered a sharp kick to Sam's already broken ribs. Sam didn't have the energy or even the breath enough to scream as his vision blacked out momentarily, intense pain flooding through him.

"It should've been you on that ceiling," Dean's cold remark cut through the darkness.

More tears poured out of Sam's eyes, and he squeezed them shut in a desperate attempt to block out Dean's voice.

"Oh, and we can't forget poor, sweet little Jessica. You killed her too. You _knew_ it was going to happen, but you still left her to die. Not very surprising, of course, considering you're a half-blooded demon freak.

"And then you let me die, too. You let me go to Hell, and then you left me there to rot while you partied it up with a goddamn demon." Dean let out a dry laugh. "And the best part? You let dear old Luci out of the cage! You started the damn apocalypse! Bet you're proud of that one, Sammy. I wonder how many people died because of you? A few hundred thousand? Maybe a million?"

Sam choked on a sob. "De," he whimpered. Forcing his eyes open, both he and his muscles groaned as he turned his head to look at Dean.

In that moment, Sam was no longer a hunter. He was no longer a man who had fought for his life, killed monsters, or saved people.

Sam was a child once again—a child looking for solace; a child looking to the one that had raised and protected him his entire life; a child looking to his guardian—a child looking to his big brother to make everything okay again.

"De," he whispered once more, struggling to lift his broken and bloodied arm to reach for his brother, begging for help.

Dean knelt down next to Sam's head, his eyes full of disgust. "I hate you," he hissed. Dean wrapped his hands around Sam's throat and then there was nothing but pain.

* * *

"Something's wrong with Sam."

"What?"

Scuffling. Urgent voices. Then, "Dean, I think you should get down here."

Dean's heart dropped. "On my way." He shoved his phone back into his pocket and grabbed his keys just as Bobby entered the motel room, carrying a takeout bag. The old hunter raised an eyebrow. "Somethin' up?" he asked.

"Garth called," Dean said as he caught the door before it shut. "Something's wrong with Sam."

Bobby wasted no time dropping the takeout bag and following Dean out to the Impala.

Upon arriving, Dean tore through the hospital with Bobby hot on his heels, skidding to a stop in Sam's room. The doctor and Jenny were standing on either side of Sam's bed. Garth hovered nearby, nervously chewing his lip.

Jenny glanced up. When she saw Dean she quickly moved aside so that he could get closer to Sam.

His little brother was covered in a sheen of sweat, yet he seemed to be shivering uncontrollably. Every breath he took was labored, as if he couldn't get enough air. Tears streamed down his cheeks and his face was contorted in agony. He was writhing, not unlike when the Wall came down and he remembered the Cage—and that was what scared Dean more than anything.

"No, no, _no,_ " Dean moaned, grasping Sam's arm. "This can't be happening again—"

"Again?" Jenny interrupted sharply. "When has this happened before?"

Dean's voice stuck in his throat. He hadn't realized he'd said that out loud. He felt a flare of anger towards Jenny for prying, but he also knew it was just her job to take any of Sam's past conditions into consideration. Even so, he couldn't just tell her "Yeah, my brother's been to Hell and he used to fall out and seize whenever he remembered it, and I'm afraid that it's happening again."

Dean was spared having to answer momentarily when Sam suddenly arched his back, sucking in one long, rattling breath.

"He can't breathe!" Dean snapped. "Do something!"

"There's nothing we _can_ do," Jenny responded, placing her hands on Sam's shoulders as she tried to keep him in bed. "As far as we can tell, there's nothing physically wrong with him. And we can't risk giving him a sedative; we don't want him falling back into the coma."

"So what, we just wait for him to suffocate?" Bobby demanded.

"All we can do is wait and hope he snaps out of it," the doctor said regretfully.

Dean reached up to grab his own hair, sick with fear. _What the hell am I supposed to do? Sammy, how do I fix you?_

* * *

Sam jerked on the ground in a feeble attempt to get away from Dean. He couldn't bare to hear anything else his brother might have to say to him.

 _Sammy, you have to breathe._

Dean's hands were still tight around his throat. He wanted to bring his own hands up to fight back, but it just hurt too much and he was too weak.

 _C'mon, please, just breathe for me, Sammy._

Suddenly Sam realized that something was different. Dean wasn't antagonizing him. He was telling Sam to breathe.

 _But that's an odd thing to say,_ Sam thought. _He's choking me._ He gagged as the pressure around his throat increased.

 _Sammy, listen to me. You're in a bad way and you're going to die if you don't use your fucking lungs and breathe._

What was it about Dean's voice that was so different?

 _Dammit, Sammy, COME ON!_

And then it hit Sam like a ton of bricks: The voice wasn't coming from directly above him, where Dean's head should be—instead, it was coming from all around him, echoing inside his head.

The ghost of a familiar hand squeezed his shoulder in the same comforting way he'd known since childhood.

Sam had no idea what was happening to him—but he did know for damn sure that the person above him was not Dean, and it was so obvious now that Sam wondered how in the world he hadn't realized this from the start.

 _BREATHE, SAMMY!_

Suddenly the hands crushing his trachea vanished and Sam was sucking in a huge, wonderful breath of sweet air.

* * *

Dean let out a gasp of shock and relief as Sam suddenly dragged in a great, smooth breath.

"It's about damn time!" Dean laughed, giddy with relief, his hand still keeping a tight grip on Sam's shoulder.

Sam sank back down to the mattress, panting. But his eyes remained closed.

"Is—is he awake?" Garth asked.

The doctor and Jenny ignored them for the moment as they bustled around Sam, checking his vitals and making sure he was uninjured. The three hunters waited rather impatiently until the two stepped back.

"I don't believe he's comatose anymore—" the doctor began.

"Well that's good, right?" Dean said hopefully.

"—But I have no idea whether he'll actually wake up yet or not. It may still take some time."

"But—so—" Dean stuttered, torn between elation that Sam wasn't in a coma anymore, and sorrow that he still may not wake up soon. "What are we supposed to do now?" Dean asked.

Jenny shrugged. "The same thing we've been doing. Wait."

 **Remember, reviews are food for a writer's soul ;)**


	7. Chapter 7

**So, um, hehe . . . please don't kill me .**

 **I'm so sorry this took forever! I promise I didn't mean to make y'all wait so long. My only defense is that I've been stressing about AP exams and the SAT, but those are over and done with now, so yay! I finally had time to sit down and write.**

 **Thank you SO much to everyone who's been favoriting, following, and reviewing, it seriously makes my day when y'all do that.**

 **Please enjoy!**

After making sure Sam was alright, the doctor left to take care of other patients. Jenny, however, remained, and Dean helped her to straighten out the sheets and get Sam settled again.

Dean noticed Jenny was frowning. "What is it?" He asked.

She shrugged. "It's just strange," she muttered.

"What's strange?"

She tugged the sheet up to Sam's chest. "The coma. See, coming out of a coma isn't like you see on TV. The patient doesn't just wake up, suddenly and to move and speak and then walk away a day later at full strength.

In reality, it's a slow process. The patient may wake up, but remain unable to move. It usually takes several days or even weeks for them to regain complete control of their body, and even longer than that to regain their strength. Sam didn't exactly wake up, but he was moving quite a lot more than is normal for a coma patient. That was something I've never seen in all my years of nursing."

All three hunters in the room shifted uncomfortably. They knew it wasn't a normal coma, but of course they couldn't tell her this. They chose to remain silent.

Dean reached up to wipe the tears from Sam's face. "Is he in pain?" He asked quietly. "Or dreaming?"

"I wish I knew," Jenny sighed. "I just can't tell." She watched Sam for a moment before excusing herself to allow them some privacy.

Dean smoothed Sam's hair with a frustrated sigh. "I'm just ready for this to be over."

Bobby squeezed his shoulder. "We'll fix 'im," he reassured Dean. "We just have to wait until tonight. He'll be okay."

Dean scowled. "I wish we didn't have to wait so long."

Out in the hall, Jenny cocked her head in confusion as she listened. She knew she shouldn't have eavesdropped, but this cryptic conversation had peaked her interest—and her concern. Exactly who were these people, and what were they planning to do tonight?

* * *

"I need you to stay with me, Sam."

Sam's ears perked at the familiar voice. "De?" he croaked.

"Right here." A hand squeezed his.

"Whaz . . . 'appening?" Sam slurred.

There was some shuffling, and then someone was lifting his head into their lap.

"You're dying," came the worried reply. "Dean's trying to wake you up, but you gotta work on your end too. You gotta hold on a little longer."

Sam would've frowned if he had the energy. _Wake me up? And why is Dean referring to himself in third person?_

"Because I'm not the real Dean," Dean's voice said. "This is all in your head, Sammy."

 _What the hell?_ Sam coughed, groaning in pain as his broken ribs strained and stabbed him. "Hurts," he moaned.

Dean's calloused hand gently stroked his hair. "I know, Sammy." Sam could hear the pain and sorrow in his voice. "I wish I could take the pain away— _god_ , I wish I could. But right now you just need to hold on and stay alive."

Sam's body, which had begun to feel warm and fuzzy, seemed to melt into the ground beneath him. " 'M tired," he sighed.

But he was snapped out of his warm trance by a harsh shake of his shoulder; the pain, which had begun to dull, came back full force.

"Awake, Sam," Dean said firmly. "Stay awake."

Sam groaned. "Can't," he whispered.

"Well, tough! I'm supposed to be the lazy one, remember?" Sam could hear the tremor in Dean's voice. "So either you stay awake or I'm drawing a dick on your face."

The corner of Sam's mouth quirked up in a smile.

* * *

"You ready to go?"

"You have no idea. Is Garth with Sam?"

Bobby rolled his eyes. "For the tenth time, Dean, _yes,_ he is with Sam, just like he's been for the past week."

"Just making sure."

Bobby shook his head with a small grin as he followed Dean out to the Impala. That boy was such a mother hen; he wondered sometimes how Sam could stand it.

They threw their gear in the trunk and headed out in the direction of the woods. Part of Dean was elated, because it was finally, _finally_ the night of the full moon, and they'd be able to summon the damn feary and wake Sam up. But another part of him was terrified—if they screwed this up, it would be another whole month before they could try again, and there was no telling what could happen to Sam in that time span, assuming he was even able to survive.

It took about half an hour to reach their destination, which was a stretch of road next to the woods that was void of any passers-by, because they had no idea how loud this was going to get. The two hunters collected their gear and set off through the thick brush.

* * *

Garth sighed as he slumped down in the plastic chair next to Sam's bed. It was past midnight and he'd been awake for over twenty-four hours. Fatigue was beginning to set in, but he tried to snap himself out of it. He had a duty, and he couldn't afford to sleep on the job.

" _Tik tok."_

Garth rubbed his eyes.

" _Tik tok."_

He yawned. Surely it wouldn't hurt to doze for just a minute.

" _Tik tok."_

His chin began to drop to his chest. Dean wouldn't mind if he took a nap, would he?

" _Tik tok."_

Besides, it's not like the Sandman thing was around, Garth would definitely hear—

" _Tik tok."_

His eyes flew open.

Crouching right in front of him was a red-eyed, grinning black monster.

Garth yelped and tried to throw himself backwards, only succeeding in knocking the chair over and crashing to the floor, the creature landing on his chest. The Sandman let out an odd screech that might have been a laugh, and reared up. Garth threw up his hands, expecting an attack.

But to his horror, the thing leapt off of him and landed on top of Sam.

"No!" Garth shouted. He ungracefully scrambled to his feet around the overturned chair, grabbing the faery by the throat and wrenching it off of Sam's chest. Slamming it against the wall, Garth yanked his silver knife from beneath his jacket and aimed for the Sandman's throat.

The creature grabbed Garth's wrist with a clawed hand that sliced into his skin. Garth's hand shook with effort as he tried to push the knife closer, but the Sandman only grinned as it held him at bay. " _Tik tok."_

Garth shook his head hard in an attempt to clear it. His muscles were already beginning to weaken. _Crap crap crap!_ How was he supposed to stay awake?

" _Tik tok."_

With a shout, Garth hurled the Sandman away and lunged for his duffle bag. He fumbled with the zipper a moment before he was able to get it open, reaching inside and closing his hand around what he was looking for.

Just as the Sandman charged at him, Garth whipped around and swung his arm in a horizontal arc as he hurled the iron shavings at the creature from the jar in his hand.

With an unholy scream, the feary fell back, its flesh hissing and steaming everywhere the iron touched it. The Sandman collapsed against the far wall, writhing in pain.

"What the hell is—"

Garth looked towards the door and froze.

Nurse Jenny Faith stood there, mouth hanging open and staring at the Sandman.

"Uh—hi, Mrs. Jenny," Garth said nervously.

She turned her head to look at him, and then at the knife in his hand and the cuts on his arm. She glanced back at the Sandman, which was beginning to sit up and glare murderously at them, then back Garth and said, "What the fuck?"

Garth might've burst out laughing if the Sandman hadn't leapt towards her, extending its claws as it went. She screamed and fell back, but Garth managed to grab the feary just before it reached her throat and sank his knife into its shoulder. But the Sandman threw him off, sending Garth to the floor where the back of his head struck the metal bedframe.

Everything became dark and fuzzy. His ears rang and he could dimly hear Jenny screaming, but his limbs refused to move. Groaning with effort, Garth managed to turn his head toward Sam.

The Sandman was once again approaching Sam, this time slowly climbing up from the foot of the bed with a twisted smile on its face. It crouched over Sam's chest and stroked his cheek almost lovingly.

Garth finally began to gain some feeling in his muscles and struggled to get to his feet again. He couldn't let that thing hurt Sam again, he just _couldn't_.

But he wasn't quick enough. Just as he stumbled to his feet, the Sandman cocked its arm back, claws extended, ready to tear Sam's throat out.

" _NO!"_ Garth screamed, lunging forward just as the claws came down.

* * *

After a good half hour of tromping through the woods, Dean and Bobby finally came to a clearing that glowed in the moonlight. Stepping carefully over a tangle of thorns, Dean made his way towards the center. "This should do," he said.

It didn't take long to get set up. First they took the large iron ring inlaid with silver veins in the center of the clearing. Then they took the oak, thorn, and ash bark, which they had ground into a fine powder, and sprinkled some around the inside of the ring. Keeping the rest in the little wooden bowl, Bobby struck a match and waved it over the powder until a small flame flared up while Dean dug a piece of paper out of his pocket and began the incantation.

"Ancient beast, bane of light!" he announced. "Darkest dream, tempest of mind! Fae of the Wicked, of the Shadow, of Death!" Dean's voice rose to a boom that scattered birds previously asleep in the trees. "By the power of the Sun, the Moon, and the Sky, I summon thee!" The clearing rang with the sheer volume of Dean's voice as Bobby threw the burning bark into the ring. " _BY THE POWER OF THE SUN, THE MOON, AND THE SKY, I SUMMON THEE!"_

Their hair stood on end as the clearing suddenly became charged with energy. The air thrummed around them, not quite audible, but just below their range of hearing.

Suddenly, from all over the clearing, wind was rushing past them towards the center of the ring. With a great whoosh, the fire flared high before exploding, knocking the two hunters back as a loud scream pierced the air.

* * *

 _Oh god,_ Garth thought as he lunged for Sam, but knowing he was too far away, too slow. _Oh god, he's going to die—_

But just as the Sandman's claws came down, a blast of heat filled the room, accompanied by the roar of a fire and a bright flash of light. Garth instinctively hit the floor as a scream filled the air.

And just a suddenly as it had come, it was gone.

Garth lay on the floor, frozen for at good ten seconds while his brain tried to catch up and process what the hell just happened. Then he was frantically scrambling to his feet, his shoes deafeningly loud in the sudden silence.

Racing to Sam, heart in his throat, Garth prayed he was still alive as he looked up at the heart monitor.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

Garth felt as though he might cry. Sam was alive. _Alive_.

But upon closer inspection, Garth realized he wasn't unscathed. The Sandman's claws had made contact with Sam's neck just before it disappeared, leaving behind four cuts. And the way it had sat on his chest couldn't have done Sam's broken ribs any favors.

Garth whipped around when he heard a groan behind him. "Mrs. Jenny!" he gasped, rushing to her side, "Are you okay?"

The old nurse was sprawled on her back in front of the door. She blinked up at him. "Garth?" she asked, confused. She rubbed her head, but other that the knot on her skull, seemed to be uninjured. "What—oh, Sam!" Jenny immediately jumped up and ran to her patient, checking his injuries. She wasted no time grabbing the first aid kit off the wall, cleaning and covering the cuts with a bandage. She then gently moved her hands over his torso, checking his ribs. She let out a breath when she found that they were still intact.

All of the ruckus had attracted several staff members, who now crowded in the door demanding to know what had happened. Garth quickly stepped in and spun a lie that an animal had somehow gotten in and attacked them. "But it's okay, we're alright . . . yes, I'm sure . . . thank you for your concern, but please, give us some room . . . "

When the others were gone and Jenny was satisfied that Sam was (relatively) alright, she turned to Garth with a hard glare. "What was that thing? And don't even try lying to me. I know what I saw, and that wasn't a damn animal."

Garth bit his lip. _Should I tell her?_

Jenny crossed her arms. "Do I need to call security?"

Garth's eyes widened. "No! No, please, I can't leave him alone—"

"Then spill it. What was that thing and who are you people?"

Garth sighed. "Okay, okay. Just, promise you won't freak out."

"Fine, I promise."

The hunter rubbed his eyes wearily. Oh, Dean was definitely going to kill him.

* * *

"So that's the Sandman."

Dean rolled over and propped himself up on his elbows. Bobby sat next to him, gazing towards the circle, which glowed in the darkness as the ring of fire slowly died down.

The creature crouched in the center, bearing its needlelike teeth at them with a low growl. Its black flesh glistened in the firelight, but upon closer inspection Dean noticed that there were burn marks stretching across its chest and arms.

"Wonder where those came from?" Dean mused aloud as the two hunters got to their feet.

Bobby shrugged and approached the circle with caution. "How you wanna do this? We need its eyes, right?"

"Yeah, and it has to be alive when we take them." Dean drew his knife. "You tackle it, and I'll start carving?" He suggested.

Bobby gave him a doubtful look.

"Hey, you got a better idea?" Dean asked.

Bobby sighed. "Fine. But there's no guarantee I'll be able to hold 'im down for long."

"Just do your best. I'll help you as best I can." Dean squeezed his knife tighter. "Think about Sammy."

Bobby nodded. "Don't forget your earplugs," he said, pulling a pair from his pocket. Dean also produced a pair and they quickly shoved them into their ears, hoping that this way the Sandman couldn't put them to sleep.

Bobby went to stand in front of the feary and took a deep breath. He drew his own knife, steeled himself, and charged into the circle.

The Sandman screamed as Bobby tackled it head-on, and swiped its claws, just barely missing the hunter's face. Bobby purposefully landed on top of it, using his body to pin the feary's legs and torso down. Thankfully, the thing's wrists were skinny, so Bobby was able to grab both in one hand and use his other arm to pin both the creature's arms between their bodies.

Even through the earplugs, the two hunters definitely felt the high-pitched screams that came from the feary. Wincing in pain, Dean threw himself down next to the feary's head. Using his knee, Dean held its head down as best he could and immediately dug the tip of his knife into the corner of its eye.

The thing screamed even louder and thrashed beneath them, the two hunters just barely able to hold it down. Dean methodically worked his knife around the Sandman's left eyeball, black blood spurting over his hand. It took longer than he would've liked, but finally, with a wet _pop_ , Dean severed the optic nerve and the eye fell out of its socket. Dean quickly grabbed it and tossed it out of the way before it got squished, and moved on to the right eye.

By now Dean was sure his ears were bleeding, the Sandman's screams were so loud. It was becoming increasingly difficult to hold it down, and Dean feared it would get loose and they wouldn't be able to pin it again. The circle would keep it from escaping, but considering the amount of pain it was in, it would probably thrash so much that it'd take them both out before they could get it back under control.

Dean heard Bobby's voice, probably screaming at him, but there was no telling. Dean simply redoubled his grip on the knife and tried to go faster without slicing the eye open.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, but was probably just a few minutes, the second eye popped out into Dean's hand. Dean and Bobby released the Sandman and quickly rolled out of the circle.

The creature, now blind, continued shrieking and repeatedly threw itself against the invisible barriers of the circle. Dean relished the sight for a moment. _That's what you get for hurting my brother_.

But after a pointed look from Bobby, Dean reluctantly drew his gun—loaded with iron bullets—and fired three shots into the circle.

The Sandman froze, finally falling silent. Then it slowly fell back, bursting into black dust as it hit the ground.

Dean and Bobby stood silently for a moment as the last of the flames died down. Then Dean turned to Bobby. "I think it's time for Sam to wake up."

Bobby grinned. "Well, let's go get 'im."

 **Quick note about the summoning ritual: As much as I'd like to tell you it's a real one, it's actually complete bullshit. I did a ton of research hoping I could find an authentic one, but just about every summoning I found was for little girls hoping to attract pretty little people with wings. So, I just used what information I already knew to make one up. For instance, I've read somewhere that the Sidhe could enter this world if they had access to oak, thorn, and ash trees, and I know the Celts worshipped the sun and the sky, and then fact that fearies can't touch iron and sometimes silver. Then I just made up some words I hoped were impressive and BOOM. Summoning ritual! I hope it was exciting as I wanted it to be lol.**

 **Remember, reviews are food for a writer's soul :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**A big thanks to everyone who's been following/favoriting and reviewing! You guys are absolutely amazing!**

Sam was fading fast.

It was strange. He could actually _feel_ his life withering away . . . like morning fog in the sunlight. Or pie in the same vicinity as Dean.

Sam was well aware that he had been attacked, even if he wasn't sure what by. He had felt a presence nearby—a _dangerous_ presence. And Sam knew it was coming for him.

As soon as he sensed it, his body immediately went into overdrive. Probably out of instinctual panic, the fight or flight urge attempted to force his body into motion. But, being trapped as he was, with no way for all that energy to escape, it only made things worse. He began to overheat and a fever steadily escalated, reaching a dangerous temperature. His heart and lungs strained as they attempted to heave and pound harder in an attempt to pump more blood and oxygen to his overheated brain, but whatever curse Sam was under forced them to remain slow. Too slow.

The result was that Sam began to burn up and suffocate. He began to panic as his life faded even further away and that menacing presence came ever closer.

His chest exploded in pain as a heavy weight suddenly landed on top of him, forcing the air out of his lungs. By now the environment Sam's conscience had created inside his head had vanished, leaving him in complete darkness, which made the experience even more terrifying. _Something_ was on top of him, and that _something_ was going to kill him. But he couldn't move to fight back, and he couldn't even open his eyes to see what it was.

But suddenly the immense weight vanished, and he was able to suck in a painful breath, however shallow. He knew the thing wasn't gone, however. And it might've been his imagination, but he thought he heard voices shouting around him.

It was only a few seconds before the thing was back. This time he could feel it crawling up his legs, over his stomach and back to his chest, once again preventing him from breathing.

Sam tried to summon all the energy he had, tried to raise his arms and shove that son of a bitch right off him and pound it into the ground.

Not even a finger twitched.

Sam wanted to scream in frustration—and then he wanted to cry out in pain when his neck suddenly stung, but of course he couldn't. But the second what he guessed was claws cut into his throat, the weight on top of him vanished, as did the entire malevolent presence.

He wasn't able to wonder what had happened, though. His brain had given up trying to sense the outside world, and Sam sank into wonderful, blissful darkness.

* * *

As soon as they were back in the Impala, Dean floored it and they flew back to the hospital. In the passenger seat next to him, Bobby held the wooden bowl with the Sandman's eyes and was using a pestle to grind them into a thick black paste, which was quickly beginning to dry and turn into a glittering powder.

The Impala screeched to a halt in the hospital parking lot, the two hunters leaping out and pelting towards the door. People stared at them as they tore through the hallways, but they hardly noticed.

Dean burst into Sam's room first. Bobby shut the door behind them and flipped the blinds shut as Dean approached Sam.

"What the hell is this?" he demanded, pointing at the bandages on Sam's throat.

"The Sandman attacked while you were gone. But don't worry, the cuts aren't deep."

Dean blinked when he realized it was Jenny that had spoken. "You—?"

She nodded, keeping her focus on Sam as she injected something into his IV line. "Garth told me everything."

Garth waved sheepishly from the foot of the bed. "Sorry. But she saw the Sandman and made me tell her. She took it pretty well, though."

Dean waved him off impatiently. "Whatever, that doesn't matter right now—what was that stuff you just put in his IV?" he asked Jenny.

"Something to help with fever. He's burning up."

Dean looked closer and realized that Sam was dripping with sweat. He placed a tentative hand on Sam's forehead and winced at the intense heat rolling off him.

"Alright, let's finish this," he growled, waving Bobby forward.

"What are you going to do?" Jenny asked, alarmed.

Bobby held up the bowl of Sandman eye powder. "We've gotta put this in Sam's eyes."

Jenny stared at them uncertainly. "And what? Is that supposed to wake him up?"

"According to the lore it will," Bobby shrugged.

Jenny laid a protective hand on Sam's shoulder, and Dean could see she was reluctant to let them do this.

"Look," he said, "we're not going to hurt him, and you should know by now that I would never do anything that could possibly harm Sammy. I just want to get him out of this before he gets any worse." Dean glanced up at the heart monitor. "I can't be the only one to notice that his heart is slowing down."

Jenny chewed her lip. "I just . . . I have no idea what that stuff is, and you just want to put it in his eyes? I don't think—"

"Jenny, we're doing this whether you like it or not," Dean finally snapped. "It's the only way to save him. And I am _done_ waiting. We've wasted too much time already."

Jenny continued to look worried but didn't try to stop them as Dean leaned forward and gently pried Sam's left eye open. Bobby took a pinch of the black powder and sprinkled it onto Sam's eyeball. The powder dissolved immediately, leaving no trace that it had ever been there. They repeated the process on Sam's right eye, and then stepped back to wait.

* * *

Sam's eyes felt as though they were on fire. The feeling quickly spread throughout the rest of his body until he was sure he was burning alive.

 _Just give up,_ a part of him hissed, _Just die already._

But suddenly Dean's voice emanated from above him. "Don't listen to him, Sammy!" he said firmly. "You hang on, you hear me?"

 _You're a freak, Sam. Nobody wants you around_.

" _No,_ don't you _dare_ let go _._ I need you, you understand me?"

 _You're a failure and a burden. You'll be doing everyone a favor._

Even though he couldn't open his eyes, Sam could still feel them filling with tears. He didn't know what to do, who to listen to—himself or Dean. Should he let go, or should he hang on?

* * *

Dean gripped Sam's hand tightly, staring intently at his little brother's face. It had only been a few minutes, but Dean was already on the verge of panic. What the hell was taking so long? Did it even work at all?

"Did the book say how long the cure would take?" Dean asked desperately.

"No," Bobby replied regretfully.

"C'mon, little brother." Dean leaned down next to Sam's ear. "Sammy," he murmured, "if you can hear me, I need you to come back, okay? Come back to me. _Please_."

Everyone was silent.

The heart monitor beeped.

And then it flatlined.

"No, _Sammy!"_

 ***Evil cackling***

 **Don't worry, I promise I'll get the next chapter up soon—I already have it half-written! I'll try to get it published by Saturday, but I may not have it up until after next week. We're going on vacation then, and I won't have access to a computer.**

 **COME ON FANFICTION, WHY CAN'T I PUBLISH FROM MY PHONE?!**

 **Remember, reviews are food for a writer's soul ;)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Drum roll, please!**

 **This is the FINAL CHAPTER!**

 **I hope you guys enjoy it, and please read my author's note at the end!**

 **Also, do not trust my medical knowledge. Everything in here was random stuff I learned from Google or just made up.**

Dean felt as though his own heart had given out as a team of nurses flooded in, shoving him out of the way.

"No!" He kept shouting helplessly. "No no no, _please_ —"

Bobby and Garth held him back as the doctor readied the defibrillator. "Charge 300 Joules," he barked. "Clear!"

With a zap, Sam's back arched briefly off the bed. When he fell back down, Jenny immediately placed her hands on his chest and began CPR while the defibrillator charged up again.

"Still flatlining!"

"Give him an amp of epi!"

Another nurse was injecting something into Sam's IV line as Dean clutched his head in his hands, tears shining in his eyes. "C'mon, Sammy, you can't do this to me now," he moaned. "Not after everything—we were so close—" he stopped as his voice hitched.

Bobby was squeezing Dean's arm, eyes locked on Sam. "C'mon, kid," he kept murmuring like a mantra. Garth was just crying openly.

"Clear!"

Sam arched again. Jenny continued the chest compressions with fervent determination, but Dean could see the tears in her eyes.

Time passed, and the nurses continued to work. But as Dean watched the heart monitor, his own heart dropped further and further. That damn line just refused to move . . .

Sammy's heart refused to pump.

After a long time the doctor leaned back with a weary sigh. "Alright, call it. Time of death—"

" _No!"_ Dean lunged forward and seized the doctor's collar. "You can't stop! He's my _brother_ , you have to _save him!"_

"Sir—"

Dean shook him. "You can't stop!" He cried, over and over. _"Please—"_

Bobby stepped forward and began to try and gently pull him back. Dean finally let him, dropping his arms to his sides, suddenly feeling bone-weary.

"Sammy," he croaked.

Bobby wrapped his arms around him in a rare and tight hug. Dean simply continued to stare at Sam's body, tears rolling down his cheeks.

He looked so peaceful. Now, as the nurses began to remove all the tubes and monitors, Dean could almost fool himself into thinking Sam was just sleeping. His face was relaxed, stress lines smooth, and lips parted, like they always were when he slept.

The nurses sent him sympathetic glances as they began filing out of the room. Jenny approached the three hunters, her own eyes overflowing with grief. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Dean just shook his head, walking around Bobby to stand next to Sam. Garth sniffled and quietly excused himself, while Bobby stood silently in the corner, wiping away his own tears.

Dean couldn't speak. He just collapsed into the chair next to his brother and took his hand. It was still warm. Dean pressed his forehead to the back of Sam's hand, trying to imprint the feeling of Sammy's warm, living skin into his memory before it turned cold for good.

A sob escaped his lips. "Oh, God . . . Sammy . . ."

He was _so_ _goddamn_ _tired_ of watching Sam die. What kind of world was this, where it would force Dean to watch his little brother perish over and over and over again?

Not a world Dean wanted to live in anymore.

Soft footsteps approached him from behind. "Dean?"

He ignored Jenny.

"Um, Dean, I'm really sorry," she choked, "but we have to take him down to the morgue."

"Already?" He snarled suddenly. "He's not even cold yet and you want to cart him off down to a slab?"

"I know, it's awful," Jenny's voice trembled. "But due to health hazards, and other patients that need the room . . . and, um, we have to do an autopsy to see if we can find what the problem was . . ."

Dean ignored her again, still staring down at his brother. His _dead baby brother_.

 _I never should've let him go off alone._

"Dean." Bobby laid a hand on his shoulder. "I know that look. And it's not your fault."

Dean flew to his feet and whirled on the old man. "How?" He demanded loudly. "How the fuck is it not my fault, huh? I let him go off alone, and when he went missing I waited for _days_ before going to look for him. I knew something was wrong, I _knew!_ But I ignored it, and look where we are now!"

"Dean—"

" _Look_ at him!" Dean's voice broke and more tears poured from his eyes.

"You still can't blame y—"

"My _brother_ is _dead!"_

A loud gasp sounded behind him, and Jenny screamed. Dean whipped around—and it was like the earth stopped.

Sam's eyes were open. His mouth was, too, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. His hands clutched the sheets convulsively and he rolled his head from side to side, groaning.

"Oh my God!" Jenny cried, hands over her mouth. "DR. WIDENER!" she screamed.

Dean had already shoved past her and was bending over Sam, hardly daring to believe this was happening. Nurses once again swarmed in behind him and tried to get to Sam, but not even a hurricane could have moved him at this point. He gently took Sam's face in his shaking hands, stilling his brother's frantic movements somewhat, although his eyes continued to roll. Dean tilted Sam's face towards himself. "Sammy," he murmured, "Sammy, hey, look at me . . . it's okay, I'm here . . ."

Sam's eyes finally focused. He stared at Dean for a long moment, and Dean fearfully wondered if Sam even recognized him.

Sam swallowed. "De?" He croaked.

Dean blinked. And then he laughed. He laughed like he hadn't in a long time and he scooped Sam up into a tight hug, one hand under Sam's head and the other arm supporting his back.

"Oh my God," Jenny was still gasping. "Oh my God oh my God oh my _God—"_

Dr. Widener had come running back when he heard Jenny's scream, and when he charged into the room and saw what was going on, his face went white as a sheet. "My God," he whispered.

Bobby had run to stand on Sam's other side, roughly shoving nurses out of the way. He stood there with one hand tightly gripping Sam's arm and a huge grin on his face. Garth had also rushed back in when he heard Jenny's scream, and was currently standing nearby, jumping up and down with joy.

Sam coughed against Dean's shoulder. "Agh—Dean, my ribs—"

"Shit! Sorry," Dean quickly and gently lowered Sam back down to the bed, afraid he had hurt him. But he was amazed at how coherent Sam was, just seconds after _coming back from the fucking dead._

"My turn!" Jenny barked in a no-nonsense tone as she pushed past Dean to see about her patient. "Out of the way! All three of you!"

Dean was reluctant to leave Sam's side, but he stepped back enough for the nurses to get to him.

The next few moments were a complete blur. Bobby excited the room, dragging a reluctant Garth behind him, to allow the nurses some room. Dean, however, flat out refused to leave, and the doctor didn't say a word in protest. He was probably afraid they would sue for what appeared to be a colossal fuck up on the staff's part—pronouncing a patient dead only to find out that that is absolutely not the case.

* * *

Sam was beyond confused at the whirlwind of white jackets and scrubs around him. He was poked and prodded relentlessly, lights shining in his face, and cold needles being stuck in his arms. It was all just too much and he found himself beginning to hyperventilate, his vision blurring and his ears ringing.

The nurses tried telling him to calm down. But the overwhelming sense of claustrophobia only grew as all these strange people closed in on him, and he began putting his arms up in a fetal attempt to fight back.

But suddenly a familiar voice cut through the noise—someone was shouting, and the nurses began to back up. A calloused hand landed on his forehead and Sam looked up.

Dean smiled reassuringly down at him. "It's okay, Sammy," he murmured, moving his other hand to rest on Sam's chest, which was rising and falling far too quickly. "I'm here, just breathe . . ."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut as he focused on taking deep, shuddering breaths. The familiar weight of Dean's hand helped to calm him down, and soon Sam was able to breathe properly again.

Dean looked up at the swarm of nurses with a glare. "Chill out, would you? You're freaking him out."

"He's right, guys," one of the older nurses said. Sam squinted at her ID tag and was just able to make out a name: "Jenny Faith."

"Why don't you all just give me and the doctor some space," she was saying to the others. "We can take care of him."

The nurses looked unsure, but after the doctor nodded in confirmation, they began trickling out of the room.

The next few minutes consisted of some more subdued prodding and questions about how he was feeling. Sam was still confused— _How the hell did I end up in a hospital?—_ but he tried to answer each question as best he could. Dean's presence definitely helped, because it gave him something to lean on. Bobby and Garth had also come back in since the room wasn't full of hospital personnel anymore, and were standing nearby.

"I can't explain it," the doctor finally said in exasperation. "You were _dead_ , Samuel. We kept trying to revive you for over half an hour and there was just nothing. And then you just—you just _came back."_ He ran a hand through his hair. "Aside from your broken ribs, you seem to be in good health, especially considering you just came back from the dead. I just—I've never seen anything like this before. You . . . _ugh,_ I don't know. I honestly _don't know."_ Dr. Widener took a deep breath to steady himself. "I still want to keep you here for at least another couple of weeks to allow you some time to regain your strength, and of course for observation. We don't want to send you home only to have you collapse."

Sam managed a tight smile. "Okay, sounds good."

The doctor nodded to them with a professional smile and excused himself to write a report. As soon as he left, Garth swooped down like a skinny pterodactyl and squeezed Sam's shoulders in a hug. "Sam, you're okay!" He kept crying, tears still streaming down his face. Sam patted his back awkwardly. "Yeah, Garth, I'm—I'm good." Sam shot Dean a look over Garth's shoulder that clearly said, _Help me._ Dean just smirked and crossed his arms, leaving Sam to suffer. Sam glared at him halfheartedly, resigning himself to being stuck in Garth's spindly embrace for a while.

Luckily, however, the little man seemed to realize he was making a scene and stepped back, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I'm just so happy you're okay—!" He stumbled off to stand in the corner, still crying quietly.

Bobby approached Sam with a grin and squeezed his arm. " 'S good to see ya, boy."

Sam grinned. "Same to you."

The nurse sat down next to Sam with a smile. "Well, Sam," she said, "I finally get to see those pretty eyes of yours."

He chuckled as she stuck out her hand. "I'm Jenny," she said.

Sam lifted a heavy arm and weakly shook her hand. He smiled crookedly. "I would introduce myself, but apparently you already know me."

"Sure do. I'm the one who's been caring for you—well, I do on the few occasions when Dean's not here."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, he likes to bother people like that."

"Hey," Dean said indignantly from his seat on Sam's other side, "I'm a joy to be around!"

Sam snorted. "Are your feet wet, Dean?"

Dean frowned. "What?"

" 'Cause you're knee-deep in denial."

Dean scowled in mock anger. "Bitch."

"Jerk."

Jenny watched the interaction between the two brothers and felt her heart swell immeasurably. Out of reflex, she reached out and tucked Sam's hair behind his ear.

Sam jumped a little at the sudden touch, turning to look at Jenny, who was now blushing. "Sorry," she chuckled. "I'm just so used to caring for you that I forgot myself."

Sam smiled. "Thank you for watching out for me," he said.

She waved a dismissive hand. "Don't thank me, it was my pleasure. Even when your mother-henning brother here was clucking away." She grinned playfully at Dean, who just rolled his eyes.

Sam shifted uncomfortably as the pain from his broken ribs suddenly flared. Dean immediately snapped his gaze to him. "Everything okay?" He asked.

"I'm fine."

"No, he's not," Dean said to Jenny.

"Hey!" Sam said indignantly.

"He needs something for pain."

Jenny smiled. "I'll get right on it," she said as she stood, patting Sam's arm before exiting the room.

"Dean," Sam groaned.

"You're in pain, Sammy, I can tell. I'm not just gonna sit here and let you suffer. Now shut up and get some rest."

Sam sighed. "Fine, but not until you tell me what happened. How did I get here?"

Dean frowned. "You don't remember?"

Sam twisted his mouth in thought. "The last thing I do remember was leaving the motel to meet up with you again. I think I might have heard something . . . but everything is fuzzy."

So Dean settled in to fill Sam in on everything that had transpired. How the Sandman had attacked Sam, how Dean had searched and found him comatose, and how Bobby and Garth stepped in to help. After he finished, Dean hesitated a moment. "Do you remember anything from when you were unconscious?" He finally asked quietly.

Sam certainly did. How could he forget?

He looked up at Dean. "No," he said, "I don't remember anything."

Dean knew he was lying, Sam could tell. But Dean didn't say anything. He just nodded down at his lap in understanding.

It was at this point that Jenny came back in, carrying a syringe with her. She stuck the needle into Sam's IV line, and as soon as she pressed the plunger, Sam could feel a warmth spreading through his veins. He let his head fall back and sighed as any pain that had been plaguing him instantly vanished.

Jenny smiled and squeezed his shoulder. "I'll leave you guys alone now. Just press the call button if you need me." She started to leave, but stopped. She turned back to Sam with a thoughtful expression. "Sam, can I ask you just one question?"

He nodded sleepily. "Sure."

She fingered her belt thoughtfully. "You were dead. I mean, really, clinically _dead._ " She tilted her head with a strange expression. "How did you come back?"

Sam thought back for a moment. "I heard Dean," he finally said. "I heard my brother and I just came back."

Jenny's eyes widened with wonder. She stared at him for a moment, and then continued out the door.

Sam rolled his head back towards Dean. Even though sleep was beginning to blur his vision, he could see tears shining in Dean's eyes as his brother glowed with happiness. Dean took his hand, and Sam squeezed back just as his eyes slid shut. And maybe it was just the drugs, maybe it was just his imagination, but he could've sworn he heard Dean's soft whisper:

"Love you, Sammy."

 _ **Fin**_

 **So that's it! End of the story! You didn't think I'd actually kill Sam, did you? ;P THAT'S MAH BABYYYYY!**

 **I had an awesome time writing this, even if sometimes I wanted to rip my hair out. You guys are my motivation, and y'all are all what made this story possible. So thank you, thank you guys** _ **so**_ **much, you're friggin' AWESOME! I love y'all, and I shall see you with another story, hopefully soon!**

 **Please, please drop a review, tell me what you thought. I can't tell you how much y'all's reviews mean to me!**


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